


Vigil

by commodorecliche



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, JeanMarco Week, M/M, jeanmarco, vigil - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 06:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4252266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commodorecliche/pseuds/commodorecliche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Day 3 - Vigil</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Marco never liked the nighttime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vigil

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 3 of JeanMarco Week 2015, "Vigil".

Marco never liked the nighttime, truth be told. Frequently an early riser, he was a man who basked in sleep simply as a way to stave off the nighttime darkness. He much preferred the daylight. The daytime may have been filled with monsters – vicious beasts of horrific proportions – but at least he could see them coming. With omnidirectional maneuver gear and swords sharpened to acid-etched precision, Marco could control the daylight.

Jean loved the darkness. He always had. Marco never understood it. 

He always thought it rather silly of him, to always volunteer to take the night patrols around the city.

“There’s more than Titans out there, you know… Things sneak up on you at night,” Marco told him, as they traded their shifts at sunrise.

But Jean just laughed.

“The dark just means you can sneak up on them, too.” He said.

Marco didn’t think that was much better.

**::**

When Jean saved Marco’s life, it was in broad daylight. The Titans had broken in – the walls damaged, and the battle raged with every available soldier, and Marco was about to become the next casualty. Suspended against a wall, his ODM gear fried and stuck grappled in the concrete, Marco could see the beast coming. Hungry, mindless eyes set on him and a wobble in its gate, it staggered towards him with only one thing on whatever _mind_ it had. Marco had tried to snap the cables, tried to slash at the leather that wound around his waist and legs, but with slippery hands and a tremor in his motions, all he’d managed to do was slice the flesh of his thigh.

Red blood on white fabric, glaring and bright in the midday sun, Marco had all but accepted death when Jean had come in. Whipping over and around the beast, he’d taken it down with precision before freeing Marco and carting the two of them to safety.

After the battle, Jean had tended to Marco’s bloodied and inflamed flesh with the trembling touch of someone who’d almost lost something important.

“Snuck up on you, didn’t it?” Jean had asked on a shaky breath.

“Suppose so…” Marco replied softly.

“Can’t control everything…” Jean whispered.

Marco tried not to wince as Jean tightened the bandages around his leg.

**::**

When Jean died, it was dawn.

Marco hadn’t expected to be the one to find him. After the first battle, with the walls resealed, things went relatively back to normal. They’d resumed their usual duties, and life had gone on, as it always did.

The night patrol was just about finished and Marco was set to take over, and he strode with confidence in the coming daylight to their usual checkpoint.

They were just supposed to trade off.

Jean was supposed to be there with a smile and a sigh, maybe even a gentle touch of their hands as he headed back to the bunkers to get some rest.

Marco found him right at dawn – just barely toeing the line between night and day.

Slumped against a concrete wall, with bruises on his face and a pool of blood beneath his ashen form, Marco found him. On wobbly legs, he crouched down at Jean’s side, afraid to touch, afraid to make a sound, but desperate to know, desperate to know _how_. Because there had always been more to fear than Titans.  

Marco could see only the faintest hint of a wound. It was hidden by layers of clothes, but was there none the less, a wound made from human hands, gouged deeply into Jean’s side and painted with lifeless reds. Scuffs and bruises lined his skin, and Marco knew it had been a struggle.

Marco wondered exactly how long he’d been left there to bleed, how much of the night he’d spent alone and waiting for the day to come.

When the others found them, the sun was up and shining brightly.

Jean’s limp form cradled against him, they found him with arms and quaking hands stained red, face streaked and salted from tears he hadn’t fully realized he was crying. His fingers knotted up, bloodless and tight, in Jean’s uniform when they tried to pull him away – wretched screams spilled from his mouth when they separated them. He’d fought until white had blinded his vision and his cries had drowned out the voices of his fellow soldiers.

**::**

After Jean had burned atop the pyre under the canopy of starlight and darkness, Marco took the night patrols. With careful vigilance in his motions, he walked through his city as if it were what he was always meant to do, if only because it was what Jean would have done.

Marco never liked the nighttime. He much preferred the daylight.

But he supposed it didn’t matter, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> not really my favorite piece but hey, i suppose it came out alright. 
> 
> thanks for reading! 
> 
> feel free to check me out on [tumblr](http://commodorecliche.tumblr.com).


End file.
